Legolas' Cottage of Lost Play
by Sarah Took
Summary: A story told from Legolas' pov, about his childhood. warning: sad.


**Disclaimer:** All the stuff in italics is Tolkiens work, as is his character Legolas, just the outline of the story is mine really, the idea, inspired of course, by Tolkien's poem. His poem is from the book of Lost Tales. Enjoy :p

By the way, this is told from Legolas' pov. And was written for my sister, because i never write Legolas stories often.

**Legolas' Cottage of Lost Play.**

_You and me – we know that land_

_And often have been there_

_In the long old days, old nursery days,_

_A dark child and a fair._

I remembered her so clearly, even though I was barely begun when I knew her. It pained me that her face still remained in my mind, and her dark hair, against mine, when our heads mingled while deep in conversation.

_Was it down the paths of firelight dreams_

_In winter cold and white,_

_Or in the blue-spun twilit hours_

_Of little early tucked-up beds_

_In drowsy summer night,_

_That You and I got lost in Sleep_

_And met each other there –_

_Your dark hair on your white nightgown,_

_And mine was tangled fair?_

Our countless 'sleep-overs' when we snuck into each others rooms and mixed up schemes and stories, before falling asleep, curled together, smiles on our faces, and tangled hair. Hers was always silky though, and smooth.

_We wandered shyly hand in hand,_

_Or rollicked in the fairy sand_

_And gathered pearls and shells in pails,_

_While all about the nightingales_

_Were singing in the trees._

We dreamt together, clearly seeing what the other saw, mingling our minds and staying together. Always we thought, together.

_We dug for silver with our spades_

_By little inland seas,_

_Then ran ashore through sleepy glades_

_And down a warm and winding lane_

_We never never found again_

_Between high whispering trees._

When she left, I could never find those places where we'd gone as a child, no matter how far and wide I looked. She always seemed to lead the way, but not anymore.

_The air was neither night or day,_

_But faintly dark with softest light,_

_When first there glimmered into sight_

_The Cottage of Lost Play._

It was our place, our secret place, where all the young elves went to escape the noisy hustling parents and the many chores of nagging, or the haven for those who were in trouble. When I was with her, it was magic, and no one could ever find it. It was magic, I think, because now it is gone, and I can't find it anymore. 'Twas builded very very old 

_White, and thatched with straws of gold,_

_And pierced with peeping lattices_

_That looked toward the sea;_

_And our own children's garden-plots_

_Were there – our own forgetmenots,_

_Red daisies, cress and mustard,_

_And blue nemophile._

_O! all the borders trimmed with box_

_Were full of favourite flowers – of phlox,_

_F larkspur, pinks, and hollyhocks_

_Beneath a red may-tree:_

_And all the paths were full of shapes, _

_Of tumbling happy white-clad shapes, _

_And with them You and Me._

I gave her a garden kit for her birthday once, and she looked at me, a fire in her eyes, and she laughed at me, and I started to cry. So she took me by the hand, and we built our garden near the cottage, and promised each other never to laugh at the other, and never, ever to forget. And her eyes were sad when she said it, but I didn't understand.

_And some had silver watering-cans_

_And watered all their gowns,_

_Or sprayed each other; some laid plans_

_To build them houses, fairy towns,_

_Or dwellings in the trees;_

_And some were clambering on the roof;_

_Some crooning lonely and aloof;_

_And some were dancing fairy-rings_

_And weaving pearly daisy-strings,_

_Or chasing golden bees;_

_But here and there a little pair_

_With rosy cheeks and tangled hair_

_Debated quaint old childish things – _

_And we were one of these._

We schemed and plotted and made up stories, which we told each other with glee, our hair mingling together, hers dark, mine fair. Our faces nearly nose to nose as we whispered things and spoke about our dinner or the kitchen fire, things, which now seem unimportant.

_But why it was there came a time_

_When we could take the road no more,_

_Though long we looked, and high would climb,_

_Or gaze from many a seaward shore_

_To find the path between sea and sky_

_To those old gardens of delight;_

_And how it goes now in that land,_

_If there the house and gardens stand,_

_Still filled with children clad in white – _

_We know not, You and I._

We grew older together, and we still were friends, but though I adjusted to the growing-up life, she was always hungering for her childhood again. Her eyes grew sadder, her hair became tangled, while mine was fine and fair, having learnt from her to brush it at least once a day.

_And why it was Tomorrow came_

_And with his grey hand led us back;_

And she fought all the while, never wanting to leave the carefree ways of the time when she was all right. She did not want responsibility.

_And why we never found the same_

_Old cottage, or the magic track_

_That leads between a silver sea_

And those old shores and gardens fair 

And she cried and cried when we couldn't find it any more, and there was nothing I could do to console her little heart, as I was young and did not know what to do. I hugged her, and crept in her room, and she tried to bring back the imaginations we created, but we knew that they were not real, and she cried so much, and looked so sad. I miss her oh so much.

_Where all things are, that ever were – _

_We know not, You and Me._

And she died one day, her eyes so sad and confused, her small body so fragile, her hair so dark and her blood so red against her white nightgown. I don't know if she knew that she broke her promise to always be together, but I still see her face, everywhere I turn, the darkness of the night, the fairness of the forest, the reflection in the pool, where I can sometimes see us sitting like so long ago. Her dark hair on her white nightgown and mine was tangled fair.


End file.
